


Coffee Date

by pure1magination



Series: Art Exchange [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Awkward Peter, Coffee Shops, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Past Character Death, Past Relationship(s), Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-14 09:09:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5737864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pure1magination/pseuds/pure1magination
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Peter go on their first official date.</p>
<p>It's nothing like either of them expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coffee Date

**Author's Note:**

> because I love this AU and because I had a bad day and needed more of these two

Steve Rogers stepped into the coffee shop and was immediately buffeted about by the milling crowd inside. He’d arrived during the afternoon rush, when every college student on the planet seemed to need an extra boost of caffeine. He was apologized to every so often, but the majority of the stressed and worn-out crowd paid no mind to the ninety-five pound twink they were bruising with their elbows and their oversized backpacks.

It was with great relief that Steve sank into a seat by the window. He would wait for the rush to die down before ordering his coffee. He propped one foot on the seat opposite and took out his phone.

Outside, it was cold and slushy. November had hit, bringing with it Steve’s favorite weather: cold and wet. Even despite the medication he took every day, his breaths were beginning to rattle. It wasn’t quite cold enough that his thick black-rimmed squarish glasses fogged up every time he stepped inside, but it _was_ enough that skinny jeans didn’t keep his thin legs from becoming numb. A thought skittered across his mind that Bucky would probably yell at him for wearing skinny jeans in this weather; he’d call Bucky ‘mom’ and Bucky would scoff and roll his eyes and tell him _somebody_ had to ‘mother’ him since Steve wouldn’t take care of himself properly, and Steve would snark back at him like he always did…

A deep ache carved out the back of Steve’s chest cavity. His fingers stilled on his phone. Bucky’s red-pink lips, wet with spit and begging to be kissed, flashed across his memory. He could still perfectly recall the pattern of Bucky’s stubble, the shape of his chin. In his mind, Bucky’s smooth voice droned on, lecturing him with words that Steve no longer seemed to hear, and it had nothing to do with his hearing aids or the partial deafness brought on by a childhood fever. It had everything to do with how much he wanted to kiss Bucky. And in his mind, he stood from his position on their old beat-up couch, he watched the adorable crease of Bucky’s eyebrows as they curved into a confused frown, he grabbed both sides of Bucky’s face with his cold, bony hands, and he brought their lips together, drank him in. He could still recall the exact flavor of Bucky’s tongue.

A voice jolted him out of his reverie. “You tired?” Sam asked with a smile.

“Yeah,” Steve lied. “‘s why I’m getting coffee.”

“I don’t see you standing in line.”

Steve gestured to the line, which was really more of a disorganized pack of about thirty people. “Doubt you’d see me if I _was_ in line.”

Sam laughed. “Point taken.” He slid easily into the seat across from Steve. “How’s that project coming?”

Steve made a wavy gesture with his hand, his face screwed up on one side in distaste. “Eh.”

Sam raised his eyebrows.

“I’m having a few problems with it,” Steve clarified. He’d been working on this project for a few days now, and he wasn’t happy with how it was turning out. “‘s not turning out how I want it to.”

“So, in other words, it’s perfect,” Sam teased.

Steve kicked him under the table. “Bout as perfect as your _face._ ”

Sam grinned and caressed his own chin smugly. “Why Steve! I didn’t think you’d noticed!”

They both laughed.

“You waiting for Peter?” Sam teased.

“Yep.”

“Hoping he’ll order your coffee for you?”

Steve shifted in his seat, checking his phone. “I never said that,” he said with a smile.

“Uh huh. Well good luck with that.” Sam spotted an opening in the crowd and stood to fill it. “I’ll see ya later!” He squeezed Steve’s shoulder briefly as he passed, and soon disappeared into the crowd.

The crowd milled about for another ten minutes or so, slowly petering out until there were only about five people in line. Steve checked the time.

Peter was late.

Steve smirked, slung his bag over his shoulder, and stood in line. He’d give Peter another fifteen minutes. The amount of times Peter scrambled into class with his chest heaving and his hair windblown was almost as amusing as how apologetic Peter was about it every time.

Surely enough, once Steve was re-settled into his booth, his white chocolate -with-a-dash-of-nutmeg latte steaming gracefully on the table waiting to cool down, there were crashing noises from the vicinity of the door and a strangled “Sorry!” as Peter attempted to right the trashcan he’d knocked askew, but his backpack caught on the door handle and when he tried to scramble away, he was yanked back to the door, which banged into the trashcan, which wobbled and nearly fell over, except Peter caught it again and apologized, louder this time. The barista behind the counter was watching with confused awe. Peter freed himself from the door handle and accidentally backed into the trash can, this time sending it tumbling sideways. Peter let out a frustrated squawk and clumsily righted it while the barista said “Don’t worry about it.” Peter nearly knocked over the _other_ trash can on his way to sit across from Steve. “Hey!” Peter panted. “Sorry I’m late!”

“Glad you made it,” Steve said, firmly amused. He didn’t want to laugh at Peter, because that would make him feel worse, but god he was cute.

“Watch my bag for a minute?” Peter asked apologetically, casting a glance at the counter.

“Of course.”

Peter nodded, approached the counter, and deliberated his order for a moment while the guy in front of him decided what pastries he wanted. Steve took this opportunity to admire the way Peter’s navy blue jeans clung to his long skinny legs, the way the smooth lines of his thighs led up to his very cute butt. Steve had about a dozen things he wanted to do to that thing later, and at least half of them involved his mouth. He crossed his legs and reminded himself he was in public. 

Peter returned, hands empty, his face as red as his favorite hoodie. “Forgot my wallet,” he said with an embarrassed smile, digging through his backpack.

“I can pay,” Steve offered.

“No,” Peter insisted, “I got it.”

It took him a minute, but he eventually found his wallet. He blushed deeper when Steve caught a glance of the Wonder Woman insignia.

“It was a gift,” Peter explained awkwardly, avoiding Steve’s eyes. He returned to the counter and paid; when he returned with his coffee, he was still blushing. And Steve was still smirking. Peter fumbled to put the wallet back in his backpack. “I like the Justice League, okay?”

Steve held his hands up, appeasing. “Hey, me too. In fact, I’m wearing Superman underwear right now.”

Peter froze. “You are?”

Steve smiled mysteriously, lowering his lashes. “Would you like to find out?”

Red overtook Peter’s face as he fought for words.

Steve bumped knees purposely under the table and took a nonchalant sip of his latte. “Just kidding,” he said after a pause. Before Peter could quite finish processing this, he added, “They’re actually Wonder Woman.”

Peter looked like he was about to have an aneurism.

“Or _were_ they Superman?” Steve tapped his chin thoughtfully. “I forget.”

Steve was immensely enjoying how red Peter’s face was right now. He took another sip of his latte. “You’ll have to tell me later,” he lilted.

Peter’s mouth clamped shut. He visibly swallowed. Steve watched Peter’s large adam’s apple bob.

“So what kept you?” Steve asked conversationally.

“Traffic,” Peter croaked.

“Hmmm,” Steve hummed, voice low. “Can’t say I have to deal with much of that, living on-campus.”

“Yeah, well,” Peter rambled, “I was out getting groceries- ramen, really, god that’s all I live on- not that I can’t afford other stuff, it’s just, the meal plan is _awful_ and my hours got cut down at work and-- I mean, I bought some peaches and some apples, too, so it’s not like I’m gonna like, die of malnourishment…” He trailed off and scratched the back of his neck.

“I know how that goes,” Steve said soberly. He held up a hand in a somber half-wave. “Grew up poor.”

“Oh.” Peter shifted. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Steve didn’t mind telling people. What he minded was the inevitable pity. “My father was a soldier in Iraq. Got killed in the line of duty. My mother was a nurse. Got hit with a round of TB, couldn’t shake it. She died when I was fourteen.”

Peter was staring at him. “I’m sorry.”

Steve shrugged, not meeting his eyes. Peter's honest sympathy was dredging up old sadness which he didn't want to face. “‘s not like I was alone. My friend Bucky took me in.”

“Yeah?” There was unspoken weight hanging in the air over them.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. Years of memories flooded in. 

“My parents died when I was ten,” Peter said.

Steve’s eyes snapped up to meet Peter’s. 

Peter half-smiled and looked away, fingers fiddling with his cup. “I didn’t really understand it for a while. Kept asking where they were, why they wouldn’t wake up. My aunt May took me in. She… Since Uncle Ben died, she’s all I got left.”

Steve reached over and held Peter’s hand. “I’m sorry.” The word carried weight. He understood.

Peter shrugged, his other hand shifting restlessly, tapping the table. “For a while, I wanted to get revenge on the guy that killed Uncle Ben. -I was fifteen. We were just walking home one night when we got jumped. Guy ran off with Uncle Ben's wallet. Next thing I know, there’s bullets flying. It was surreal, watching him float to the ground like that, right next to me, and I had this moment where I just stared at the guy holding the gun, and he stared right back at me. And then he ran.”

Steve ran his thumb over Peter’s knuckles.

Peter went on, “I got into some bad stuff for a while. Took martial arts, kept an eye on police beats, even had a transistor radio modded to listen in on the local cops, and every time there was a robbery…” Peter smiled self-deprecatingly. He shrugged one shoulder. “Guess that was stupid, huh.”

“It’s not stupid.” Steve remembered the hatred curling in his gut for the drunk driver who’d ruined his life. “What made you stop?”

Peter let out a bitter ‘heh.’ “I met Gwen.”

“The girl who died?” Steve guessed.

Peter’s eyes darkened. He nodded.

“I’m sorry.”

Peter stared into the distance without really seeing the coffee shop around them. His warm caramel-brown eyes looked about as bitter as unsweetened coffee. “She was everything to me,” Peter said in a scratchy, broken voice that was far too heavy for a man his age. “She… she pulled me out of a bad place. Reminded me how much I love science. Got me back into my schoolwork, helped my grades go _way_ up. Aunt May was so proud…”

“What happened?”

Peter glanced at the table, then up at Steve. “She fell,” was all he could get out. His voice caught and tears sprang to his eyes. Abruptly, he squeezed Steve’s hand too tight, almost like he was trying to keep _Steve_ from falling from some imagined height.

“It’s okay,” Steve said. “You don’t have to explain.” _Right now,_ he mentally amended. Peter would tell him when he was ready. As for now… “Bucky did the same thing, for me.” When Peter’s scared eyes locked with his, Steve continued, “After ma died, I didn’t want to go on. Had a real bad time, thinking I could just die and go with her. An’ he…” Steve’s voice slipped into a Brooklyn accent as he remembered. “He told me, ‘if you go, Steve, if you _dare_ go I’ll be right behind you, because I can’t live without you.’”

“Wow,” Peter said after a moment. “You must’ve had one helluva friendship.”

“Yeah.” Bucky had been Steve’s friend since before either of them could walk. Their parents had been neighbors and their mothers had struck up an immediate friendship, both having infants in the house at the same time. Bucky’s love confession when he was fifteen was the best thing that had ever happened to him. “I was in love with him.”

Peter surveyed his face, grip loosening on his hand. He looked hurt. “Kinda looks like you still _are._ ”

A sad, bitter smile twisted Steve’s mouth up on one side. “Always will be.” He grabbed Peter’s hand when he tried to pull it away. “Bucky died four years ago.”

Peter froze.

“We were seventeen,” Steve explained. “Went out for a drive. We were stupid… young. Went to a party. Got a little drunk. He kept laughing at me for being a lightweight. Insisted _he_ drive home. Kept saying he was okay. And maybe he was, I dunno. But after he dropped me off… He was driving across a bridge. And a car heading the other direction swerved into his lane. From the tire tracks… the cops said Bucky slammed on his breaks and tried to swerve out of the way, but the car nailed him in the driver’s side. His car hit the side of the bridge and… I’m not exactly sure how it went over the edge, but…”

“Oh Steve.” Peter was holding Steve’s cold, bony hand between his long, warm fingers. His coffee cup sat, abandoned, at his elbow. His full attention was on Steve.

“Sorry,” Steve said with a bitter smile. “Didn’t mean for that to get so… deep.”

“Hey, I started it.” Peter attempted a sorry smile.

“Well, I’m gonna finish it.” Steve sipped his now-room temperature latte and set down the empty cup. He stood. “What do you say we go back to my place, cue up Netflix, and I spoon you until everything feels like it’s okay?”

“That sounds amazing.”

*

Hours later, Peter was curled up on his side, Steve’s arms threaded around his waist. Steve’s warm, even breaths warmed his shoulder with every exhale as he slept peacefully behind him. The sun had set hours ago, but neither of them had gotten up to turn on the light. The room had darkened around them as they'd languidly kissed, cradled together on Steve's too-small bed, and if Peter's face was wet from tears, Steve hadn't said anything. He'd just kissed the tears away.

The only light in the room came from Steve's laptop screen. The next episode of Justice League started up automatically; Peter let it play. Steve's breath rattled a little every time he exhaled. Steve had told him not to worry about it, but Peter had insisted on keeping Steve warm. Steve hadn't argued.

Somewhere, the kissing had turned heated. Their clothes had been flung away haphazardly as they drank each other in. Steve’s Superman briefs mingled with Peter’s Batman boxers somewhere on the floor. Peter was still a little blown away by the fervent way Steve had sucked kisses all over his torso. Every moment with him was amazing.

Batman and Wonder Woman were having some sort of sass-off on-screen. Peter smiled. His vision blurred as his eyelids drooped. He pulled Steve’s arms tighter around him, tugged the blanket higher over his shoulder, snuggled closer back against Steve, and closed his eyes.

It really did feel like everything was gonna be all right.


End file.
